


Lone Digger

by dalula



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Blood and Violence, Bulges and Nooks (Homestuck), Caliginous Romance | Kismesis, F/M, Facials, Fingerfucking, Hand Jobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-10
Updated: 2020-08-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:13:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25831135
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dalula/pseuds/dalula
Summary: "Not so cocky now, are you, Kurizzle? Deep down you're not sure who's side he’d pick. That drives a control freak like you crazy, I bet." She’s murmuring softly to you now as if her voice could ever be described as anything resemblingsoft.
Relationships: Kurloz Makara/Latula Pyrope
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	Lone Digger

**Author's Note:**

> i went down a rabbit hole of juggalo and skater slang for this fic. worth it

gamrgrlCabalerial [GC] began trolling tyrannicalClandestine [TC]

GC: dud3  
GC: w3 gotz to t4lk  
GC: m33t m3 by my h1v3 tomorrow  
TC: >:o?

Confusion isn’t a feeling you like to experience. It means you didn’t plan well enough, that you let details slip by without considering their deeper meaning. You’re getting careless, too sure of yourself. Pyrope’s unforeseen mystery seeks to remind you that the future is an unpredictable land mine of fickle, spontaneous variables that you can’t anticipate. Full of people with free will, who are able to get in your way. Your scripture can direct you but it’s up to you to follow out their vague plans without failure.

You’ve shown no interest in knowing Latula beyond the occasional civil interaction in Mituna’s presence, and she seemed perfectly happy with that unspoken agreement. There’s no love lost between the two of you. She’s brash and loud in a way that’s different from Mituna; it’s an obvious mask to hide her insecurities. He’s a sunburst of unrestrained joy while she hides in the shadow of her facade. You can’t think of anything that she might want to talk to you about, and you’re certain no one suspects your true intentions. But you have to admit your curiosity is piqued.

It might not be wise to meet with her; she’s in Mituna’s good books and you can’t risk her fucking up your moirallegiance with him. But she’s also a loose thread you need to deal with. And deal with her you will, in one way or another.

TC: alright, sis.  
TC: I’LL BITE.  
TC: be seein you then.

Since entering the game, you can travel easily enough to each other’s lands. If you had had to trek to the bum fuck of nowhere to find her within the woods you might not have been so eager to see her.

When you arrive, she doesn't come out to meet you. You stand at the base of her tree like a loser being stood up by your date, pretending to text on your phone in case she's watching from a window. Idly, you send Mituna a few bars you've been working on, on the off chance that he's not too busy with his bulges in his nook to reply to you.

Maybe that line of thinking is why you were distracted enough to be ambushed.

Your back slams against the base of her tree, hard enough to dent it, your shoulder blades taking the brunt of the impact, leaving bruises that will last there for days. She crowds you immediately, her face inches from yours, and glares at you with vengeful fury in her eyes. She’s forgone her glasses, maybe to show you the full extent of her rage in hopes that you'd shit your pants on sight. But it's just as well for her. You don't know if you could have resisted breaking them right in her pointed, irritating face.

"I get that you're his moirail," she spits. Her gamer girl shtick is nowhere to be found. "But don't think for a second I trust you with him."

You smile, knowing it will only infuriate her more, and hold back the repulsed sneer that threatens to emerge.

"Well then, ain't it a fuckin' miracle that you and your shameful self don't be having no part in what we get up to in our own private continuations."

To your utter joy, she bares her teeth and growls. You didn't think you could rile her up _this_ easily. She’s got her hands on either side of your neck, pressing against the wall, boxing you in. Part of you wants to laugh in her face for thinking this would intimidate you. So you do. Spittle hits her cheeks as you open your maw wide and cackle. You laugh even harder at the look of disgust on her face. If her nose still worked, she would've been able to smell your Faygo-tinted breath as it fanned over her, but you guess you can’t have everything.

She bangs her right hand against the wall, leaving a crack in the brick. "If you hurt him I swear-"

"Hurt him? Now, why would I be wantin' to hurt mine own sweet-ass palemate, huh?"

The interruption makes her eye twitch.

"You’re tripping, right? Everyone knows you’re a sick fuck, Makara. What’s stopping you from crossing that line and doing some kind of sketchy shit to him? Your _morals?"_

You take a deep breath to calm yourself. There’s no sense in ruining the fun when you can drag out her irritation for as long as you can. 

"I don't know what I've been up and doin' to be givin' a cloying personage like yourself that irreligious inklin', sister." Your grin is sharklike. "But you don't gotta worry none. When I hurt him I'll make sure he's moanin' for it."

A fist launches at your face, but you expect it and duck in time, leaves and dust raining down on your head. She’s nothing if not predictable.

Truthfully, you have no intention of hurting Mituna, but she doesn't need to know that. Not when it makes her flush such a vile colour at the very idea. You’ve proven to yourself time and time again that you'll say pretty much anything if it can provoke her like this.

"Fuck you." Her voice is barely a whisper but it shakes with anger. "He'll listen to me if I tell him to leave you. I know he will."

Despite everything that tells you she's wrong, a pang of fear shoots through your body. You try and hide your panicked expression before she can see, but she's smarter than she lets on, her face slipping into a smug grin.

"Not so cocky now, are you, Kurizzle? Deep down you're not sure who's side he’d pick. That drives a control freak like you crazy, I bet." She’s murmuring softly to you now as if her voice could ever be described as anything resembling _soft_. Her lips are inches from yours, teasing you.

You shatter the distance between your bodies with a snarl, smashing your mouth onto hers. It’s all supple, tender skin under you until she gathers herself, her mouth parting and teeth aiming for your tongue as it tries to creep inside. She retaliates by clutching at your shoulders and digging into the material of your suit, pulling and stretching it purposely, while her nails bite at whatever skin is left undefended.

Your hands rise to delicately cup her face. The gentle action takes her by surprise, leaving her momentarily distracted and vulnerable.

The pained sound she makes when you switch your positions and slam her against the unyielding surface of the tree base will be in your mental jacking off material for years to come.

“I fucking _hate_ you,” she hisses.

“Right back at you, chica.”

You dive towards her throat and bite her harshly through her suit, ripping the material callously. The taste of blood on your tongue tells you you've broken through skin.

"We doing this, Makara? Going full pitch?"

You smirk. "If you think you can be handlin' it, skaterbitch."

"Oh, you are _so_ gonna get owned." She grins, each sharp point of her teeth bared, and swings a fist into your jaw. This time she doesn't miss.

The pain mixed with utter shock that she managed to get the upper hand on you leaves you breathless and recovering for longer than you'd admit. Long enough for her to get one hand around your throat and the other in your pants. You’re not unsheathed yet but that doesn't put her off; her fingers rub roughly up and down the slit of your nook as if to tempt your bulge out by persistence alone.

Blood wells up in your mouth. The sting from your tongue tells you you've bitten it. You spit out the purple-tinted saliva, which hits her left cheek, and let the rest drool out of your mouth and trail down your chin just to piss her off further.

"I'll admit, sis, I underestimated your motherfuckin' bite. Ain't nothing, though, shit'll barely bruise. Is this all your talk be bringin’?"

You grind your crotch onto her hand, trying to get her to move.

"I didn't wanna wreck you too quick, dude! You for reals think I’d bail before I fuck the shit out of you?"

You chuckle, moving your hips leisurely against her still hand. "As if you're getting your putrid motherfuckin' bulge all up inside me. Does Tuna know just how filthy his bitch can get?"

"Does Tuna know just how delusional his freak is?"

Hips stilling, you lean in close.

"I don't know what you be referrin' to, _midblood_ , but you best be silencin' your blasphemous fuckin' trap before I get my misunderstand on." 

" _Please_ , like you don’t know what I'm talking about? Spare me the act, bro! The fanatical clown hoofbeastmanure, your- what was it? Angel of double death? Some wack ass crap about honks? You’re fucking psycho -"

She’s on the floor and your hand is stinging before you even realise that the overwhelming rush of emotion you're feeling is _rage_. Your instincts give you no time to gather your thoughts, you climb on top of her and hold her wrists to the floor.

"Hold your motherfuckin' tongue before I rip it the motherfuck out!" The echoes of your voice reverberate around you, burning with righteous fury. "Ain't no time worth squanderin’ on sacrilegious heathens like you, ain't no space neither. I know futures that faithless cullbait like you couldn’t even fathom. Keep your vile fuckin' mouth closed about shit you ain’t got no knowin’ on."

You bite your tongue to stop yourself from spewing more religious sermons she won’t be able to comprehend or appreciate. You’re not like Vantas, you can accept when you’re wasting breath on unhearing nonbelievers.

She seems frustratingly unconcerned at your outburst, going so far as to cackle mockingly. "Did I hit a nerve? Oops. Maybe you should take a chill pill, my bro."

The urge to skewer her with your horns, pull her apart with your hands and teeth, threatens to overtake you but you resist. That ain't part of the Messiah's plan. You fuck up now and you’ll make this a doomed timeline. 

Deep breath in, deep breath out. Unclench your hands, loosen your shoulders. You could walk away right now, stop wasting your time on this bitch. Her hateful advances are bordering on platonic and from the look in her eyes, she knows it too. Whatever her goal is it’s just distracting you from your plans and pissing you off in the meantime.

But she could have her uses. You need to blow off steam somehow.

“If you be wantin’ me to stick around with your unsightly self much longer, you best be makin’ this some proper pitch shit. I ain’t got time to be dealin’ with no mental fuckery, got it?”

She seems to consider this, looking you up and down as best she can while pinned under you. Teal blood trails down from her nose to puddle between her lips, coating her teeth when she smiles.

“Sounds rad to me, Kurlizzle.” Something in her has shifted, she seems content. Like this was all a test and you’ve just passed. “But no telling Tuna, kay?”

Finally, something you can agree on.

“You got yourself a deal, sister.”

The taste of your blood mingles with hers as your mouths connect in a brutal fight. There’s nothing seductive about your movements, it’s a simple battle for domination. Her legs kick and push in an attempt to force you onto your back, and while she is strong, she can’t overpower you with so little leverage.

With one hand pinning her shoulder down, your other one slips into her pants to grope at her sodden nook, ignoring the tip of her bulge beginning to emerge.

“Well, ain’t you a soft lot.” Two fingers slip inside her easily. “Got that neden fuckin’ soaked for me already. What a motherfucking _whore_.”

“Can you shut it for, like, one min, dude? Hearing your gravelly ass voice doesn’t really do it for me.”

“Aw, it don’t?” You coo in her ear, slowly thrusting in and out of her. “That breaks my blood pusher, baby girl, it really does.” 

“Ugh, kill me," she groans over the sound of your snickers and facepalms. "I’m being legit, you freaking zany. Shut up before I straight up bail.”

“Real cute of you to be believin’ I foster any regard for what you want, sis.”

"Maybe if you kept your mouth shut for more than one sec people might actually like you." Shrugging off your hold on her, she removes her shirt with a frustrated tug, allowing you the chance to leer at her rumble spheres freely.

"I finally got myself a grasp on why Tuna's burnin' red for you," you say, staring shamelessly. "I mean, it certainly ain't that charade of a personality you're workin' with."

She slaps you, the sting burning harsher paired with the bruise she left there earlier, and you snarl warningly. The humiliation of a tealblood thinking she has the upper hand makes it hurt all the more. Frustrated and impatient, you move back to get out your long-suffering bulge but she hooks her legs around your waist to keep you trapped against her.

“Thought I’d make it easy for you, huh? ‘Sides, who said you’d be topping?” Her grin shows off her many sharp teeth, stark against her black lipstick.

The blood from her neck tastes the same as it had from her mouth but it causes a much more of a reaction as you tear at the delicate skin there. She pushes your head away with her hand, squealing, and you bite at her forearm in response. Teal gashes are trailing her lukewarm blood onto the ground making you fight the urge to smile. That’ll be a bitch to get out of the grass. You gnaw maliciously at her, refusing to stop as she attempts to wriggle away. It takes her grabbing two handfuls of your hair and pulling hard to get you to stop.

"Is there bein’ a problem, my repugnant sis?" You smile, knowing her blood is staining your teeth. "Just thought you might be wantin' to get a start on with the show before we start wastin’ away into dirt noodle food."

"Nope." She lets the _p_ sound pop obnoxiously. "I've got so much freaking time on my hands right now you wouldn't even believe it. I could hang with you all day if I wanted - damn, chillax with the frowny face! It’s not like you’re not gonna last that long anyway."

One of her hands releases your hair and snakes its way into your underwear. She gropes at your unsheathed bulge harshly, letting it twine and throb around her arm, not even attempting to keep her nails away from the sensitive flesh. Her strokes are firm, starting from the base of your bulge and sliding up until she's got the only tip in her fist. She teases the narrow end with her thumb, smoothing over the hole. Purple oozes over her hand, trailing slowly down her wrist and into the crook of her elbow.

“Pretty keyed up, aren’t you?"

"If that repugnant motherfuckin' stain you've been leakin' is anythin' to be goin' by, so are you."

Despite the revulsion it brings to admit it, she’s good with her hands. You’re sliding slick and eager in her hold in no time, grinding your hips to meet her pattern. She allows you to rest your face in her neck as you pant wetly. Before things start running too red, she forces her hand under your shirt to scratch at your sensitive grub scars. You growl and flinch away but she simply grasps at the flesh of your sides and digs her nails in, tugging at the tissue until you’re forced to stay where she wants you.

Your bulge is thick and pulsing, hungrily writhing around in search for a nook. The fight you’d have to go through to get inside her is something you’re not willing to bother with right now, especially when she’s fondling your bone bulge so perfectly. Mituna must be getting ass more often than you thought, from the skills she’s showing you.

You feel you climax approaching as a wicked idea enters your mind. She’s too distracted stroking you with a smug grin on her lips to expect you to move away. Without warning, you crawl up her body until you’re positioned over her face and hold her head down firmly so she can’t struggle away. The vision of her aghast expression tips you over the edge, your bulge thickens and tenses before you spray purple around her. Moans leave your lips without your permission as your nook clenches rhythmically, squirting out liquid in a regular pattern until there’s nothing left for you to empty.

Pulling away, you sit back on her collarbone, breathless, and smile lazily down at your furious maybe-kismesis as she lies there in mute anger. Your colour looks awful on her, purple and teal don’t go at all, but the reaction it’s brought out of her is worth the insult to your eyes. She seems too irate to do anything besides stare in seething horror up at you, blinking away the dripping mess of genetic material in her eyes.

“Surprise, motherfucker.”

There’s definitely a look of pure hatred in her expression now, far beyond the romantic pitch kind, and you’re half-convinced that you’ve just doomed the timeline, that she’s going to kill you right this second, consequences be damned.

You aren’t surprised when she reverses your positions, throwing you harshly onto your back and straddling your face. If anything you let her do it. She looks down at you with the darkest kind of resentment you’ve ever seen on her, the kind she doesn’t want Mituna to know she’s capable of, and spits on you. Blood, genetic material, and saliva try to find an entrance to your mouth but you shut your lips stubbornly against them.

She doesn’t speak as she rips apart her own leggings, allowing access to her bulge and nook. Somehow, her silence is more unnerving than any skater trash talk she could spew.

You don’t get the chance to move away before her nook covers your mouth and her bulge squirms restlessly over your face. Her scent fills your sniff tubes, inescapable and stifling. You open your mouth hesitantly, not eager to give her what she wants, and stick out your tongue for her to ride.

“That’s it, Makara,” one hand grabs hold of the front of your hair while the other grasps your horn. “Shut the fuck up for once.”

Resisting the urge to scrape your teeth against her vulnerable flesh, you do what she says. Your tongue makes a passage up her nook to lick at her clenching walls while your hands seize her hips cruelly. It’s a new, additive form of hate to make her writhe and whimper for you.

Her bulge circles your right eye threateningly in search of a hole to fill. It’s a horrific enough idea to reinterest your bone bulge but you push down the heat and close your eyelids firmly. You’ll have plenty of time for sexual mutilation when you’re dead.

She grows more flustered as you continue to lick her, pulling sharply on your hair to direct you. Somehow, the fact you're good at eating her out seems to make her angrier, as if she hoped she could mock you for your inability to please her.

A bitter surge to prove to her just how good you are at this fills you. You remove a hand from her hips and slide two fingers alongside your tongue inside her. She gasps and folds over you, her body grinding down in desperate hitches. It's almost too easy to make her thighs shake around you. Your tongue aches and it’s hard to suck in enough oxygen while you’re smothered between her thighs but there's no chance of you stopping before she's finished. If you do she'll never let you live it down.

You're practically slamming your fingers into her by the time her orgasm overtakes her. Fluid coats your face, draining from her bulge and nook in thick spurts. You can feel the splashes of material against your hand and chin as you continue to fingerblast her into goddamn Jupiter. You must be covered by now. That’s pretty fair justice, you suppose.

You refuse to let up until she's eliciting breathless growls and whimpers telling you to stop, wrenching out of the death grip you still have on her hip.

“Stop, holy shit.” She sounds out of breath as she frees herself from your hold and scrambles away.

You wait for her to say something, maybe insult your stamina or, less likely, compliment your oral skills but she doesn’t. In fact, it looks like she’s trying very hard to pretend you’re not there at all.

"Get the fuck out, 'Kara." She’s not playful anymore. Her shoulders curve around her as if to protect herself and her expression is one of disgusted regret, shadowed by her curtain of hair.

You’re both a mess but you don’t think Pyrope’s going to let you stay long enough to switch to clothes that aren’t ripped, bloody, and soaked with genetic material.

"Happy to, chica." You could taunt her, continue to shove this situation in her face and make her feel even worse about what you've just done but you’re feeling pretty low yourself. You mainly just want to get out of here and curl up in your recuperacoon for the next hundred sweeps. Even the thought of seeing Mituna leaves your gut twisting uncomfortably, and you know she must be feeling the same.

You leave her looking thoroughly pitch-fucked, scratched up and bloody. As you walk to the transportalizer you let a few Faygo bottles fall from your sylladex, when she finds them she’ll be pissed. You don’t look back to see if she’s watching you go.

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote half of this months ago and have been haunted by its unfinished status ever since


End file.
